


Just A Shout Away

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Series: Gimme Shelter: A Walking Dead AU [2]
Category: Fast & Furious (2009), Fast and the Furious Series, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Canon Character of Color, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Survival, Walkers (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living in the past and present inside the walls of Jericho.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Shout Away

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters herein. They are the property of Universal Pictures, Justin Lin, Rob Cohen, Gary S. Thompson, Robert Kirkman, and AMC. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Rolling Stones, [Gimme Shelter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jb-JZPmiEOI)
> 
> A/N 1: After watching Fast and Furious, Fast 5, and Fast 6, I was bitten by the AU bug and couldn't help myself. This is the obligatory Fast and Furious/Walking Dead Fusion. C'mon, our team are basically superheroes already and probably more than capable of surviving any sort of apocalypse.
> 
> A/N 2: As always, I've plotted out other stories in this verse. However, I must admit that I won't have much time to return to them, so I'll gladly provide my notes to anyone who wants to continue this verse. I'd love to see this verse continue as a long series.
> 
> A/N 3: Story takes place between the end of Fast and Furious and the start of Fast Five. Heavily inspired by Seasons 4 and 5 of the Walking Dead.
> 
> A/N 4: Mia got the Lori treatment. I'm sorry for fridging her.
> 
> A/N 5: Final edits made!

 

Dawn made it easy to forget that the approaching sunrise wasn’t ushering in a normal California morning.

From the east, the sun rose over the horizon’s edge: vacant of trees and biological life but spotted like a grotesque Pollock painting with the scattered and slue-footed traffic of walkers.

“Just another day in paradise,” Dom said, keeping his eyes trained on the sunrise.

If he stared hard enough, he figured he’d feel something. Not just the sting from too bright light, but something pure like optimism, despite still feeling the clammy clutch of dreams from just a few hours ago. A battle that became harder with each new day where the scent of death on the wind rose with the sun.

“Or maybe Hell. Could always be Hell,” Brian offered with genuine smartass good humor. “But,” he jostled Jack and shifted him over his arms to face the sun’s distant rise, “ _this one_ tells me otherwise. This one says ‘Uncle Dom give Daddy breakfast’.” According to Brian, Jack always had a lot to say.

“That’s what he said, huh? He’s got a mouth like someone I know. Not even teething and already giving orders around here. Wonder where he gets it?”

Brian nodded and chuckled drily, all smiles this morning as they continued to sit. “I’ve been wondering the same. But I’ll give one thing to Jack: The kid’s got his priorities straight. So breakfast, breakfast, breakfast, breakfast, then brood,” Brian counted off by ticking down his fingers until he was left with the solo middle one. “In that order.”

Dom shook his head as the warm beginnings of a smile began to take shape at the corners of his mouth. “Just what I need—a couple of smartasses first thing in the morning.” Better smartasses than the Russian roulette that replayed his nightmares and fears in quiet moments.

Brian knocked his shoulder into Dom’s playfully. “And you know it. A cup of smartass is almost as good as Folgers to wake you up.”

Dom pretended to disagree; if only because the harsh reality presented by the sunrise crept into his vision like a tide of drifting sun-mottled and hollowed skin. If he watched Brian or Jack even, he could box out the shambling figures at the edge of the gates. The walkers kept coming by the day, swelling around the gates’ perimeter like pus in a wound, just growing more purulent and raging beyond their reach. He made a mental note to add gate duty to the list for the day.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Brian maneuver Jack into the fabric of the sling and secure him inside with a few slides of his hand. He had no doubts that Brian could go from cradling Lil Jack to popping that M-16 up on his shoulder and firing off a few rounds of dead center head shots at a moment’s notice.

Picking up the earlier train of conversation, Dom started up again, shifting the focus back to Jack and his supposed big mouth. “Can’t have him talking about Hell until he’s been baptized into the longstanding tradition of Catholic guilt.”

Brian hummed, thoughtfully. “The chapel’s clean, a little musty, but clear.” The chapel had been one of few places in the jail fully intact. A heavy wooden cross occupied the front wall of the puke green room that was little more than a few rows of collapsible chairs and the poorest excuse of a wooden pulpit. The baptismal fount was shallow and tall enough for a few sprinkles from the chaplain to hopefully reform the wicked but not deep enough to drown the recipient of a grudge.

Brian’s eyes were trained on the fence as well. His hands firmly secured around Jack as the distant roll of rattling metal and raspy snarls wove through the air. “It’s weird to think about the other stuff.” Brian forced a laugh, any real humor sorely absent in the sound. “Like, the stuff that you miss now that it’s not there anymore.” He ran a careful hand over the curve of Jack’s back and Dom recoiled just a little at the thought of things gone missing. “Nuns used to scare the shit outta me when I was a kid--”

“Maybe cuz you and Rome were tiny terrors?” Dom knew enough about the adventures of little Brian O’Conner and little Roman Pearce to figure that the nuns had just cause. Getting Brian to talk about his past was like trying to pry apart cement bricks with a fork. Rome, on the other hand, gave it up in fits and showers like a busted birthday party piñata.

Brian steamed ahead, nonplussed about Dom’s lack of his presumed innocence. “But now? I’d kill to see one of the gnarly sisters swinging a yard stick if it meant things would go back to normal.”

Dom cocked his head to look at Brian and Jack, his brain seeming to shuffle the moment through _file-click-save_ as the dawn painted them in shades of gold. The shade, he realized, that matched Brian’s hair but probably never Jack’s. It was a good moment to have on hand. A good moment to shift to when his hands were covered in blood—cold and congealed as if bathed in old motor oil, or warm and metallic and still stinging from the collision of bone on teeth.

Hell, purgatory, a living nightmare—the name didn’t matter much to Dom; only that they continued to survive and put down as many walkers as they could, because that would mean one less walker to try to take them down. The sheets of iron-link were more than just a fence; they’d be the start of a wall. One soon to be shored up by a ring of junkers per Tej’s fortification plan.

A wall that would separate life from death. A tragically small margin that rattled under the decayed grip of sinew and bone and moaned out a bitter reminder that death was a guest at their door and it wouldn’t be leaving very soon.

Jack made his first noise of the day, a soft gurgle that like an alarm, had them ramping up from baseline vigilance to paternal hyperawareness that tunneled their vision on Jack like an adrenaline-NOS cocktail.

Jack’s gurgling fell on the happy end of the hungry-sleepy-wet spectrum. The mundane things Dom looked forward to most. After months on the road scavenging for food and information, it’s the little touches from before that bring up the easiest calm.

So they took turns asking after the bits of the routine that they could eagerly look forward to.

This one being Dom’s turn, he said, “Look at Jack, already putting us on notice. I think I see what you mean about him being so mouthy.” Brian nodded, smoothly rocking the nest of the sling while Dom made for their weapons nestled between them.

“Speaking of breakfast, I’m already guessing eggs and cornbread, coffee—“

As they climbed down the metal benches, Dom added, “Oranges, grapefruit, fresh salsa, and tortillas.”

“Bacon,” they said simultaneously once they reached the ground and watched the last arch of the sun’s base clear the earth.

They crossed over the sun-faded lines on the basketball court. Small patches of brown dust kicking up as they walked, sticking to their boots and leaving distinct patterns on the gravel. The irrepressible colorful lines scratched over the blacktop from days prior remained defiant under the mat of dust. The flowers, stick people, and lopsided geometric houses were a happy reminder of all that they’d managed to save inside their walls.

“It’s the small things we’re supposed to be thankful for, right?” Brian took Jack’s tiny fist and shook it up at the sun, their ritual morning greeting to Mia that Dom always stood ceremony for and complimented by dropping two fingers to his lips and blowing the kiss off into the wind.

“There are many things to be thankful for, if we start listing them off now, we’ll never make it to breakfast. But being thankful for bacon is no small thing. Your boy gets more props each time he tells the story, and in spite of how much he runs his mouth, I swear, Bri, the bacon gets _that much_ better with the bigger the story gets.”

Each run beyond the gates was an exercise in tried experience and long spun hope, expanding on careful observation and costly mistakes. Like staying on the outer bands of any decent sized town—forget cities, too many walkers, living people, and obstacles to make a worthwhile trip until there was more support. Gas stations, dollar stores, and municipal buildings always had non-perishable food and most items that were emergency essentials.

They could thank Rome’s affair with processed sugar for getting a small herd of walkers on his ass after he got caught searching through the broken front of a busted motel vending machine. As Rome would tell it: He drew the walkers away from Han and the three others out with them that day; whereas Han plus three said Rome booked it down the West Monterrey Street like his ass was on fire; and ended up running inside a half-burned out Whole Foods. Using the aisles, he played a game of walker whack-a-mole, taking down nineteen—Han corrected: seven—walkers and then took a breather against the deli counter.

Since then Rome had never been prouder of his fast feet or yuppie taste for vintage shit. Because the cured meats, dried fruit, and oats and granola had all been spared in the fire. And Rome carrying back a sack full of cured bacon had him living high on the hog around the camp.

“Don’t be jealous, Dom. Maybe you’ll find something good next time.” Brian offered with a small grin. Another one of those jokes they shared, because the stuff Rome brought back for the group was always good. The stuff Dom brought back for them was even better. “Let’s move, y’know hungry people are fast people.”

Dom muttered. “Tell me ‘bout it.”

It was another thing Dom did when they crossed the court. A thing that Brian had only pointed out with a vague gesture once: the way Dom hung back for just a second or two, just long enough for Brian to get ahead of him and for Dom to step across to cover his right flank. The position put Dom between Brian and Jack and the open air that led to the fence. He didn’t remember when he started, only that he did and Brian being Brian just seemed to instinctively understand what Dom was doing and hadn’t said a word, just kept his stride loose but ready as always.

Dom signaled up to the pair in the western tower by waving Brian’s M-16. The black cuts the pair sported seemed almost identical this far down as they signaled back. The taller of the two, who had a wild bushy beard that made him look more at home with a battleax and Viking helmet than gripping a pair of tall ape bars, then held up a solitary hand, indicating they’d be down in five.

Brian mimicked the gesture, then continued forward. “Y’know I saw some crazy shit _before_ \--” Which continued to hang in the air like a loose nail too stubborn to be pounded down was Brian’s way of talking about his days as a cop. “-with the team, and even now—but seeing those two on perimeter watch and being buddy-buddy has still gotta be the strangest shit I’ve ever seen.”

The apocalypse made a habit of churning out strange bedfellows. Their home was a simmering gumbo of all walks of life that scattered SoCal and the Pacific Coast. Dire circumstances constantly flipped the measure of friend and enemy. Yet, some things remained a point of fact. It didn’t matter if imports, two seaters with ape bars, or a black and white were your thing; everyone knew that Hell’s Angels and Mongols mixed even less than oil and water and caused the same result as a struck match dropped into a pool of gasoline when forced together.

Since they’d been smart enough to find the Station, a long abandoned platform for an early stop on the Union Pacific Railroad, they’d been given the opportunity to take Gisele’s security test. The fact that Gunner, a twenty year strong six and half foot biker, formerly known as Erik the Red and Caudrado, who was as tall as he was wide, stared Gisele in the eye and answered her questions without daring to look at her tits or blinking kept them from being shot on the spot. But what got them through the gates was their willingness to follow any chick who carried a gun as big as Gisele’s and clearly knew how to use it. The duo of one-percenters had been welcome ever since.

The lights were running when they stepped through the yard door, finally back inside Jericho. The corridor glowed in the orange haze of industrial lighting while whispers of shuffling feet and rustling conversation fluttered down the vacant hall.

“So…we gonna talk about last night or what?” Brian hedged in light of them being completely alone.

Dom strode ahead, initially answering with stony silence. “What d’ya think, huh? I asked what happened and you told me. What else needs to be said?”

Walking the corridor offered another quiet moment for Brian and Dom, a short reprieve before they entered the cafeteria and got pulled in different directions. For both, it was matters to be brought before the Council or requests for the next supply run or offers to join the road crew. Individually, the requests were always more personal in nature.

Brian bumped shoulders with Dom again, already anticipating the change in his mood. “Sucks being the king, doesn’t it?” The title rubbed Dom exceedingly wrong each time it was used—as a joke or otherwise. “Lighten up, Dom. Your public will worry if you walk in with that look on your face.” Calling him the king didn’t fly well in the little democracy they were trying to reestablish. “A good way to freak people out is by being all gloom and doom before coffee. Especially before coffee.”

People deferred to Dom like they always had; now the action was more noticeable. When Dom entered the room, the sense of expectation ratcheted up and there was always an uncomfortable pause, as if they were waiting for him to give them news, offer up an owed explanation for all that had come to pass because he looked capable of bearing the burden. Dom didn’t know anything that the rest didn’t. The only thing Dom knew for certain was how to survive and protect. The difference between him and most being that he’d only done it faster to reach these gates first.

So, there would always be questions and requests to expand the rescues to bigger and farther out towns, followed by a response from Dom. But the weight of Dom’s words contained an absolute finality that the majority could understand—it was an offer of security.

“Say whatever you want. I’m not the one getting booties and blankets thrown at me left and right. The lil prince over here needs only to sneeze to have the place about to riot.”

“He can’t help it, Dom. This face? We’ll have to make our own baby food just so his face could be on it. The Gerber baby’s got nothin’ on, Jackie-Boy.” Who murmured and nuzzled against Brian's chest. Brian’s cosmic watt smile clearly echoing _I told you so_.

“Wonder where he gets that from?” Dom mused, while Brian’s smile started to cinch in. They said Mia’s name infrequently, even if they thought of her often; her name like glass felt far too fragile when it fell from their lips. So fragile, it seemed best not to say it all. “Toretto genes.” Dom said.

No matter where the people inside these walls had come from, they shared the same path to get there. That path was covered in a trail of dead that were either put down or taken down to keep them alive.

Brian retorted, “O’Conner genes.” Very strong genes as they were already present on Jack’s face penetrating through the layers of chubby baby fat. In the future, there would be no mistaking whom Jack came from.

Almost into the belly of the beast, they could smell the predicted breakfast options, including the satisfying salted bacon. Just a few moments remained of their peace, a window long enough for Dom to save another instant memory of Brian cradling Jack, calm relaxing his features and his attention solely on Dom. The same warm intangible feeling that had always settled in his gut and had steered him in Brian’s direction had grown strong and deep and branched out like Sequoia roots—ever growing and thirsty. Just watching Brian now kept it fed.

Dom reached over while the small window of privacy remained. His fingers combed through the tapered hairs at the back of Brian’s neck. The touch Brian leaned into. The heat stirring low in Dom’s belly was a continuation from the night before, the anger had long since abated but everything else remained close to the surface and Brian skimmed it by turning into the touch, letting the corner of his mouth graze against Dom’s palm. It was a promise if Dom had ever felt one.

The rec room was sandwiched between the yard hall and the cafeteria. The ubiquitous hardback plastic chairs with four metal legs were stacked into neat columns at the room’s periphery. It was a show of another rule put into practice.

A general Jericho rule: If a room wasn’t in use, keep the space as wide open as possible.

The faint brown spots dotting the wall were the reminder of the heavy price of that lesson. The reverb of panicked screams and shattering bone still haunted the room, echoing far louder than the twin beat of their synchronized footfalls.

The clock above the rectangular entryway had stopped dead long before they’d come to this place, actually years before the outbreak began. Now the second hand lazily twitched, stuck in a permanent holding pattern each time the power was activated.

Time didn’t matter as much, not without the confinement of deadlines, orders, and demands; all tradeoffs for some commodity or another that was now obsolete. Where other resources were now scarce, time was the commodity that was absolutely free.

Once free of the rec room, the voices on breakfast shift became more distinct. Dom let his hand slide down Brian’s neck and south over the straight line of his spine and allowed it to linger at the low curve of his back.

Besides the breakfast shift, what he saw ahead gave him a bigger reason to look pleased. His eyes remained forward as he spoke, “Which fan club d ‘ya think you’ll get first? Scouts or the Golden Girls or Pooh Bear?”

Brian gave the odds some thought. “The sling’s gonna bring in the retirees, so. Money’s on the Golden Girls to snatch him off me before I can reach for the formula.”

The Golden Girls were a trio of retirees picked up outside a Palm Springs retirement village toting a long barrel shotgun apiece. A little dehydration and chronic arthritis hadn’t made their initial meeting any less precarious, the group of geriatric women had stared them down ready to show them that old didn’t necessarily mean slow.

And Pooh Bear? Pooh Bear and Piglet were a couple of farm boys from NorCal that headed south after their town was overrun. If Brian had one fan in Jericho, it was Pooh Bear. Taking out a small herd of walkers with just the grill of one of the Dead Catchers and five bullets would leave most impressed. Which was how Brian saved Pooh Bear and Piglet about fifty miles north of Jericho and came away with a fan. The kid followed him so closely from then on, even Brian’s shadow was pressed for space.

“Pooh Bear always comes running first,” Dom countered.

If Brian was Pooh Bear’s hero, then Jack was his surrogate little brother and/or charge that would require a bulldozer to come between them. Piglet wasn’t so star struck but nonetheless grateful and did his part in the garden and greenhouse instead.

“You’re probably right about that.”

Brian got eternal adoration for rescues and retrievals and thousand and one offers to watch Jack, because people loved babies. He was the unofficial mascot. One the things besides the promise of food and shelter that gave the newbies hope when they entered. Kids led to a future. A future meant there would be life. If there was life, then there was still possibility for hope.

That same hope forced them to call their home something else given its obvious purpose. The walls and bars still caused Dom a curling unease that even the sight of walkers couldn’t unsettle. Some days, just knowing what this place was gnawed at him like an impacted tooth festering on bone and nerve, and took everything—his will and deliberate mental recalibration to remember that this was not Lompoc.

No, this was Jericho. The old name for the county jail was embossed into the solitary tiles of bronze and iron in a few places throughout the structure. A watermark to the facility’s past despite its sluggish turn towards modernization. Like Easter eggs, the name popped up when transfer halls and congregation points were empty.

The name was a good omen, some said.

As they entered the cafeteria, Tej’s voice carried over the local AM band greeting them. “If you can hear this, then good morning and Radio Jericho is back for another day.”

Once through the door, the morning officially started with sporadic waves and greetings from across the room. Dom hesitated before starting towards the long table where Han sat fully occupied by the contents of his plate. He tugged the narrow rim of Brian’s t-shirt. “Coffee?” From his periphery, Dom saw the glorious moment when a scout, the head Golden Girl, and Pooh Bear sighted Brian more efficiently than an army sniper.

Brian declined the offer with a simple shake, also having realized they’d been made. “No, gimme juice,” and continued on towards the kitchen and the intercepting path of one of the three.

Han acknowledged Dom with a tip of his head, his fork already midway through his spearing a bit of fluffy egg and cornbread.

“You and Brian good this morning?” Dom prepared himself to answer the question several times over the course of the day, as it was the closest thing they had to genuine gossip around the place.

“Why? We look like we’re not?” Dom did a slow scan of the room, spotting Brian along the wall of the open air kitchen. He was near the sink and the water tanks filling Jack’s plastic bottle. Pooh Bear dogged each step.

Han palmed his fork as he chewed slow and thoroughly. The man’s favorite time of day, much like Rome, was mealtime, and Han enjoyed it completely. He swallowed his bite. “No, just thinkin’ about the conversation you two were gonna have last night... should’ve been really intense. Brian’s lucky Gisele didn’t get to talk to him first. I can’t stress enough how _hard_ it was to stop her a coupla times from going up to your room to show Brian some tough love.”

Dom rested the nose of the M-16 against the side of the table. The shotgun joined it a second later, though the big knife remained attached at his hip.

“If I only had the time, man.” Dom said, though smiling just a little. “I’m sure you figured out a way to keep her distracted.”

Months on the road diminished all of their group’s ability to become embarrassed. With limited space and privacy, it became unusual not to catch one of the others in flagrante. So Han just shrugged, letting his small smirk speak volumes on the topic of what he did to distract Gisele. “Breakfast is good today.” He offered offhandedly.

“Yeah?”

Dom and Han watched the early risers fill the caf, all ready to settle into what passed for normal these days. All people ready to settle back into living rather than clutching at the harsh threads of bare survival. But just the sight of people—so many more than the handful Dom already called family made his head spin a little and cause bile to creep up into the back of his throat.

The scratch of Han’s fork across his plate drew his attention away from the newcomers and solely back to Han. He got it. That sudden vertigo that Dom caught at the sight of other people. People that they wanted to trust. It was just. Yeah, the hard taste of the consequences of his poor decisions continued to linger, bitter like vinegar undiluted.

Han waved his fork a little, gearing up to make a point. “We made it another night. The streak’s still unbroken. That’s all people really care about, y’know? Just one less thing to worry about. So, as far as the morning goes—the walls are still standing so we’re good.”

That was their code to acknowledge that the situation inside was normal. No walkers. No one sick. No one else dead. Just a little play on their home’s name to keep those in charge well informed.

Dom began to take another habitual scan of the room, but Han cut into his watch, “Hurry up and get some of this before you get pushed to the back of the line. Never underestimate hungry people, Dom.”

“Good thing, I’ve never been slow.” Dom grinned as he watched Brian slip through his harem of admirers.

Dom made his way over to the line, along the way greeting the various residents of Jericho and shying away from any faces that looked anxious for a little face to face time. He made eye contact with Rome and Gisele back to back in line, who acknowledged him in their own way and continued down the line to get their breakfasts.

In their initial sweep of Jericho, they’d managed to scrounge up a large coffee urn from the former staff lounge. One of the legs was cracked in half, but the other three were sturdy and the filter worked, so it got put to use spitting out battery acid strong coffee. It wasn’t ideal but good enough for any who wanted the familiar rush of caffeine in their blood.

As he filled a set of small ceramic mugs with coffee the color of wet earth, Dom watched Brian hand off Jack to Ruth aka Golden Girl Number One—an ex-military nurse who was almost six feet of sassy senior citizen. Since she and the other Golden Girls had come into Jericho, they’d taken over the kitchen and shared supervision of the greenhouse and farming with a few others; the latter mainly with Piglet.

Jack’s formula had already been set out on the metal prep table. He chose another bottle from the drying rack mounted on the wall behind the mounds of clean plates. Brian handled the bottle prep with practiced ease, though each step was precise: from the way he poured powdered formula to testing the temperature of the water to the number of shakes necessary to dissolve the powdered milk.

Dom stepped into the serving line, still watching the action from the back as he went, though little had changed over the course of the last minute. Truth of the matter, Jack was the luckiest person in Jericho. He had the least number of mouths to divide his portion of the food supply. There were a couple of other little ones around, none nearly as young as Jack, and all were soon to be off the bottle in a couple of months. The stock of formula and powdered milk had only increased with each food run. With the present stock as it was, there would be no fear of running out anytime soon.

Ruth handled Jack with the care and pleasure of any grandparent, and Jack was fine with being handled. She spoke to Jack while bouncing him gently against her chest. Dom could tell when she shifted from talking to Jack to speaking with Brian by the subtle changes in her body language and the tones of her voice, though he couldn’t hear her words.

Brian looked up first with his eyes then lifted his head to be on the level with Dom’s sight-line. He answered Ruth back, and then the pair were sharing a laugh, something possibly at Dom’s expense or just a quick laugh about him staring again. It was another new habit that Dom had developed; like the rest, Brian remained its focus.

Satisfied with the temperature, Brian held his arms out to Ruth who placed Jack back inside them, but not before offering Brian a good-natured pat on the cheek for his trouble. He wasn’t the only one who’d decided to build new families from the wreckage of the world.

Dom gave Brian a small shake of his head, because Brian wasn’t done with his fanclub yet. Waiting at the mouth of the kitchen at the start of the chain-link enclosure was Pooh Bear. Dom also spotted Piglet farther ahead in the chow line.

Brian gave Pooh Bear his turn with Jack and also the time to just hang with him. Brian went easy on the kid, like everyone else, but Brian had the extra benefit of hero-worship to temper his interactions with Pooh Bear.

Despite the ridiculous height difference, it was Piglet who was the older brother, with Pooh Bear as the younger in years and, from observation, mental status. Piglet was tightlipped about his brother, so no one knew if Pooh had always been this way or if the end of the world sent his mind down a rabbit hole of regression. The kid was easily a head taller than he and Brian and just as proportionally wide; the size of a lineman on any side of the football field, but as docile and unassuming as a kitten.

Whereas Piglet was about five and half feet tall of persistent baby fat and rosy cheeks begging for a pinch. Despite appearances, Piglet was strong and smart and had kept himself and his brother alive until they’d been overrun. So if Piglet found a measure of comfort by keeping his and his brother’s names secret, then Dom could respect that. To get to this point they’d all done things to survive; some of those things terrible enough to make becoming a new person a blessing.

Finally making progress in the line, Dom grabbed two trays. A few dozen meals from before and after showed him that Brian was an easy sell—hardly picky when it came to food. Breakfast was eggs, bacon, cornbread, coffee and salsa. A real king’s breakfast.

Dom made it back to the table just as the other three had arrived and settled in, though Gisele stopped short of the table and issued him that particular look of hers which forced Dom to drift over to her first.

She wore a look of expectation on her face as she stared into his eyes. “So?” Gisele questioned, applying a light version of her skills. As innumerable as they might have been, interrogation chiefly sat within the top three. “Did you have a talk with Brian?” Her accent was an undercurrent, rolling lightly beneath her words, only snagging occasionally on the flat consonants.

He knew the answer she was looking for. Gisele had had his back that night as they waited for Brian to return. Gisele wasn’t scared of much these days, but she’d been scared last night, and where Dom had faltered—decisively betraying their rule—she’d stood with her finger hovering over the trigger, ready to drop Brian if she had to.

“We talked a little, cuz talking’s just not our thing. But we came to an understanding about last night and other nights to come.” Dom submitted for her appraisal. Everything he’d just said was true, yet Dom reserved the right to feather-edge the full extent of the situation so that Gisele could ease off the emotional throttle. He owed her that much at least.

Gisele glanced at Brian, after which she turned to Dom again. Her naturally pouty mouth narrowed playfully as she pulled a subtly sly face. “You say you _talked_ to him, but he’s still walking, so...” She flicked her eyebrows suggestively. “I doubt the two of you went deep enough.”

She never failed to surprise Dom. “Gisele, you have an interesting way of handling your problems. I’m don’t think Brian and I handle our problems like you do.”

“Trust me,” she smirked, “the way I work things out is satisfactory for everybody.”

Dom was torn between fearing for Han and thinking he was so damn lucky. He’d never been so glad to not be drinking at the moment. “Jesus, G. If I didn’t know you, I’d be afraid of you.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, though wearing the same faux innocent expression. “You’re a smart man, Dom. You still know that you should be.” Her lips twitched, restraining her laughter. “I’ll be talking to my brother about this.” Which was inevitable and a tangible reason to fear for Brian.

Contrary to popular belief, Dom knew when to back off, and with those two, he knew better than to interfere. Beyond shared experiences, like close quarters tactical training and weapons expertise, the pair had an uncanny way of reading tense situations and acting in tandem.

For a time jealousy had been an unrelenting monkey on his back. Since the moment they’d met, Brian had been almost exclusively his. Then the world changed and suddenly he was divvying that unique connection between them with Gisele and sharing Brian physically with Mia.

He would have held his hands up in surrender if they weren’t filled by the breakfast trays. Again, Gisele smirked before finishing the journey to their table.

Any residual jealousy that Dom had once harbored was permanently extinguished now. The sight of his sister’s blood on Gisele’s hands combined with Brian’s bone-rattling howls of _No_ as he collapsed into torrential sobs scorched the earth of that superficial bullshit.

Gisele stopped to see Jack first, speaking to him in soft Hebrew which divided Jack’s limited attention span between the bottle at his mouth and the woman standing above him. She glared at Brian, albeit mildly, who affected an appropriately sheepish look in the face of Gisele’s simmering displeasure. Her indecipherable flowing vines of Hebrew continued, the meaning completely lost on the rest of them, though possibly not on Jack—as whatever she’d uttered caused him to grin around the bottle and wave a little fist at her. Now apparently pleased, she straightened her back while still smiling down at him and began to turn away, only to first lay a resounding smack to the back of Brian’s head before departing.

“ _Akhi_ ,” she tossed behind her.

That conversation she owed him was now completed. She floated around to the other side of the table to set her tray beside Han, gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, and dived into her breakfast.

Rome sat on the opposite side of Han, watching Gisele’s retribution quietly which was unusual for him. He drank a mouthful of bitter coffee and pulled a puckered face and then coughed to clear it from his throat. “Guess you heard that, Bri? I hope you were listenin’, cuz from the sound of that pop…Bruh, I don’t think you want to have that conversation again. Or, maybe, that’s just me.”

Dom was finally seated when Brian turned to him. “Seriously? You’re not gonna do anything about that?” He’d been using his feeding hand to nurse Gisele’s conversational mark. Jack wasn’t too keen on the arrangement, so he began to kick up a couple of stutter-cough-whimpers that would surely dissemble into ear scratching wails if Brian didn’t act quickly enough. The nipple slipped back into place; crisis averted.

“Nope.” He let the ‘p’ pop as he answered while putting Brian’s tray in front of him, arranging it so he could reach his food while he held the bottle in one hand with Jack in the crook of the other.

“Low blow, guys. I’ve got a baby.” He juggled-shifted Jack across his chest. “This little person right here.”

Dom laughed after his first taste of the morning brew hit his tongue. Brian’s _I’ve got a baby_ was the new Man, _I almost had you_. “You’ve got a baby and I _still_ don’t have that ten second car--what else is new?” Dom snapped back, enjoying how he’d snatched the wind from Brian’s sails just a little.

Rome snorted, amused as always by the bust Brian’s balls routine.

Han made a placating gesture. “That’s why she went easy on you, dude. Be grateful and don’t let your eggs get cold.”

Agreeing, Rome coolly nodded along, completely co-signing Han’s bullshit. “See, this is why I came to breakfast so early. I knew G was gonna have a convo with my bruh here, which was fine by me. Cuz…if I got started on you, man. Let’s just say I don’t need Dom on my case for slapping some of that pretty off.”

Gisele shredded her cornbread square into small hills of crumbs and spoke without looking up from the rising heap. “Don’t worry, Rome, I think he got the message.” The implicit threat that there would a repeat _conversation_ if Brian hadn’t went unstated but completely understood.

“Ooo, you gon get it,” Rome warned like a kid who hadn’t been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Knowing when to give up, Brian conceded, “Message received,” and flipped Jack over his shoulder to burp him.

Rome pointed at Brian with his fork. Rome had a chronic problem of needing to have the last word, and despite his relative cool the day before, he was just as pissed at Brian as the rest of them. “After what you put us through, you should be grateful she didn’t tell the Golden Girls, too. You’d never sit again after they lit into yo ass.” He chewed the last of his cornbread resolutely and swallowed. “One word, bruh: Burnt. Just like my mama’s cooking. Your ass. Woulda been.”

Ever the peacemaker and part-time shit stirrer, Han interjected to lay the topic to rest. He draped his arms around Gisele and Rome’s shoulders, each eyeing him curiously. “What we’re saying is that you messed up. Scared the shit out of all of us like you couldn’t believe, Brian. So don’t do it again, please, because having a cute baby won’t stop the ass kicking coming your way next time.”

Brian gazed around their little table, still alternating between gentle pats and rubs to clear the air from Jack’s belly. Trash talk aside, he could see the seriousness laid before him and the genuine concern from his family. Brian looked to all of them, then spoke with his eyes lingering on Dom. “--Didn’t do it on purpose. There were just...Just too many of them. I’d wanted to do what you all have trusted me to do: And that’s bring people back, especially the ones worth saving. And the ones we got yesterday are good people.”

Another Jericho rule: Save the ones worth saving. Leave the rest.

Dom forced himself to continue eating instead of asking whether Brian always had to play hero. His lack of self-preservation had always bothered Dom, doubly so in the present. But Mia. Mia taught him that sarcasm wasn’t a productive outlet, so he continued to eat his breakfast until something less acerbic came to mind.

Inspiration hit him suddenly. “How’re the new people?” Dom directed the question to Han.

Cruise director jokes aside, Han was the best at figuring out group dynamics and being an open ear for new people. He used what he’d been given to figure out how everyone could pull their own weight. “Um, good…” He tilted his chin to indicate that Brian and Dom should look behind them.

From the group brought in the afternoon before, it was the old man standing a few feet behind their table, seemingly somewhat awestruck. He looked better now that he’d showered and had access to a full night’s sleep and hot food. He wasn’t star-struck but struck nonetheless as he looked at Jack and then Brian.

Brian, ever the cop, asked carefully, “You okay, sir?”

Silently, the man collected himself. “Yes, I’m…I’ve seen the children here, but I never woulda guessed…A baby.” His eyes developed a fine shine obvious even in the ambient light, though no tears began to fall.

Jack yawned then and blinked his little eyes to beat back impending sleep which only made the old man shutter and gulp as he got more tear-eyed. “Thank you. Just thank you for this place and finding us.” The old man said so tiredly.

Brian turned around to offer the man his hand. “You’re welcome, Mr…”

“Name's John Winston. But John’s just fine.” And they shook hands. Watching John, it was almost easy to see him descend down a tunnel of past and present as he watched Jack fall asleep.

The encounter didn’t last much longer as Rome appeared at the man’s side. He’d always had a special touch with old people, and the older people in Jericho were always under his watch. This was how he exorcised the demons of his own failures.

“Did you get breakfast, sir? Lemme show you.” Said Rome, steering the man away and towards the food line.

They finished breakfast quietly after that. Just listening to the hum of early morning people. The looped recording of Tej’s voice on a number of radios rolled beneath the current of conversation.

Dom drank the rest of his bitter coffee and listened to the low slur of the message.

_This is Radio Jericho and the walls are still standing._

* * *

 

Around the big table in the former staff room, just down the top corridor from Brian and Dom’s room, sat the six members of the team plus two more. This was the standing weekly meeting since the team had first taken control of Jericho; a necessary evil they all had come to appreciate as it kept the old and new residents alive.

As de facto leader, Dom started the session. “How’re the new people settling in? The old man at least looked okay.” He looked physically healthy, but the state of his mind left them wondering, and the way he looked at Jack was suspicious enough.

Han agreed with Dom’s assessment and had spent more time with the new people than the rest. His signature calm gave new people a sense of ease that four walls, hot food, and the absent smell of walkers couldn’t provide. Even if they joked about him being the cruise director of Jericho, he was good at it, and so far, the place was operating on minimum friction mostly due to his actions behind the scenes.

So Han began his report by recapping the morning. “Well, we already met John. The others are good though, passed the medical check. Best of all, guys, the lady’s a doctor.” There was audible sigh of relief from those around the table. “The man’s an engineer and he’s her husband. The old man’s a repairman of some kind.” Han turned to look at Ruth. “I saw he had a military tat on his forearm—maybe the marines, I’m not sure.”

Ruth was older. How close to retirement age she was, none of them knew or dared ask. She had rich dark skin with a lustrous honey-tone in her color that made her age even harder to crack. The anchor tattoo on her ankle was as much a surprise as any considering her age, yet knowing her—all dry humor and venerable sass and brass—she might be able to find some common ground with John or just make him feel less alone. “I’ll check around. Possibly bring him down to the kitchen to help with the dinner shift and see what skills he’s got. Because we certainly don’t need any dead weight and I certainly don’t want to deal with any old fools running about.”

The members at the table might have chuckled a little at her last point, Rome and Brian more so than the others, but her point still remained. Just another something Dom would deal with if necessary.

Tej was still scrubbing his face, trying to physically remove the sleepy fatigue from his features through the motion of his hands. He’d finished the cup of coffee Ruth had offered but still continued to drag. “Gimme a sec,” he said, stifling a yawn. “It’s been a long night.”

The outcome of the long night had been the refined quality in the looped message for sanctuary. “No problem, man, the message plays good. Now you can save your voice.” Dom explained.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tej slurred his words and trailed off for a moment. “We’ve got the FM and AM covered. This place has got a garbage security mainframe and no capabilities to link up to satellites for internet…”

Brian sat up. “That’s new. Internet’s been down since before the power went out.” He wasn’t the only one beginning to buzz with the possibilities. “If it’s back up, then this thing may be turning around.”

No, Tej shook his head; there hadn’t been any corners turned in the apocalypse. Life was distilled down to three default settings: bad, fucking worse, and just end it already awful.

“Naw, man, I’m not thinkin’ about reaching out to touch anybody--not that there really is an internet anymore, just thinking how we could use the system to help our situation... I’d kill for a hook-up to Google Earth for real-time imaging, but since that won’t be happening anytime soon, all our on-ground surveillance will either be person to person or low-fi cameras around the perimeter when the power's on.”

The walkers drifted to Jericho’s perimeter at a steady rate. Sounds and smells drew them towards the outer fence where fingers dry and sharp like autumn branches clutched the loops and tirelessly grasped for living flesh. The fence patrols went out three times daily, just a little less now that the junker wall was creeping taller.

Tej continued. “We’ve been lucky. With the good weather, we can pick up some CBs and sideband radio signals that are few hundred miles away.”

“Have you spoken to any of those signals?” Gisele asked, as security was still her primary focus.

“I’ve been keeping a list of the ones I’ve heard, especially the ones that repeat. It’s slow process but we may be able to either get new people in here or maybe setup a trading post, or something. With some of the people, you can just—hear _it_ in their voices, know what I mean?” Tej exhaled tiredly, slow and evenly, and pushed back into his chair to sit up straight. “Either way, it’s just a thought. We’ll see how it goes. The power rotations and the rationing is working out. We’re good on gas for the generator.”

Speaking of gas, Dom looked to the eighth member of the group. Clayborn Bucks wasn’t a man that would have normally rolled with Dom or his crew, but circumstances as they were had proved otherwise. Clay was a backwoods boy at heart. The permanently ruddy-faced, big mustachioed Tennessean had come west to L.A. to try his luck on the Price Is Right. A gift to himself and his wife after getting dismissed from his shale drilling outfit. When hell decided to spit back its own, he and his wife had been stuck, and like, the rest had wandered from place to place, dodging walker herds and a variety of still breathing beasts that roamed the roads.

First night in, he’d wanted a drink and not the beer—aka the foreign piss-water—that they had in stock; so thoroughly disappointed by the lack of domestic labels like Coors or Pabst Blue Ribbon, he wandered the halls and picked through the scrap from the cleared cells and storage units and came across a ramshackle hooch still rusted from decades of disuse and questionable content. A few ears of corn later and they had two gallons of corn liquor— _Shine_ , Clayborn hooted, triumphantly. And an alternate source of fuel for those that didn’t want to risk going blind from ingesting the distilled lightning in a jug.

“ Corn’s startin’ to come in way we expected, but we gotta watch for dem birds,” he drawled, his accent heavy and words dripping from his mouth with the viscosity of molasses. “The still’s done as y’all know and we just gotta feed it. Already tested out a coupla dem Dead Catchers with the ethanol and they’ll get by just fine on it since they’re newer models and all. Environmentally friendly and shit. Now we just gotta wait.”

Contrary to the low drag of his drawl, Clayborn happened to be a very succinct man, always getting down to the necessary details and junking the rest. It made working with him fairly easy.

So satisfied by his report and claiming that topic as a win, Dom plowed ahead, already looking down the table at the next person. “Alright, another problem resolved. What’s up with security?”

Tej had more to add. “First thing: There’s not enough cars for the junker wall. We’ve salvaged all the parts we could from the cars here and those within a coupla miles of this place, but we still need more. More exit cars, definitely; some more salvage mobiles, okay, and maybe two more Dead Catchers.”

Brian shifted in his seat, his knee incidentally brushing Dom’s as he leaned closer to the table. The contact triggering Dom’s side-eye reflex to watch him.

Brian bobbed his head and in turn suggested, “Give us a list and we’ll find them for you. I think we can start heading back west just a little.” Moving west had been dangerous before because of how densely populated the metro areas were, increasing the odds of getting swarmed by herds. But Brian contemplated their best options and if he was settled on west, he’d be stubborn about changing his mind. “Dealer lots, parking lots connected to big stores, post offices…any place connected to local government’s gotta have a vehicle lot.”

Dom thought of the impound lot Brian had taken him to hide Braga’s drugs. The part he remembered most through the thick curtain of adrenaline and codeine post-bullet was strolling the lot beside Brian, sizing up cars, shooting the shit until he busted out the window of the Impreza WRX Brian wanted. A bullet hadn’t curbed the undercurrent of light flirtation, had just validated his chivalrous turn by way of opening the door for Brian to get in. The tactic had been ham-fisted but the result had been the same: A date was date, according to Dom.

Brian considered the walk after the Trans roasted the Eclipse their first. Because what was a good date without the threat of bodily harm and public humiliation, or so Brian proposed.

Sensing a natural transition, Gisele looked pointedly at Brian then Dom. “Brian and I should do this. Rome too.” Her tone didn’t leave room for distension, only passive compliance. Dom might have wanted to disagree but she and Brian worked well together; the same when Rome was added, so changing the script on his end wouldn’t be at all practical.

Satisfied with the round of silent understanding, Gisele used the opportunity to provide her assessment of Jericho’s security. “We have enough hands for the fence rotations, more would be fine though but not a top priority. My girls are getting better at shooting and the three oldest will soon be ready for tower duty or going out on runs…” Like Brian had Pooh Bear, Gisele had the members of Troop 2001 from Boulder, Colorado. The girls, ranging from nineteen to seven, followed after her like ducklings headed to a pond; only difference really was that some of them could shot the wings off a fly.

She finished off with, “Safe houses. We’ll need more.” A given conclusion if the group kept growing.

“We’ve covered immediately east and have enough space for everyone here. South and west are still dicey. We won’t know what that’s like until we go back. I’m thinkin’ we should start north first, skirt Oakland and San Francisco and see happens.” Brian reasoned and Gisele nodded her support.

Dom appreciated that Brian was always on his toes thinking. His instincts were rarely wrong. Here, though, Dom disagreed. “Double back on east and north then. No telling where we’ll have to go if this place falls.” The worst case scenario they’d barely managed to avoid once before. “But we’ve seen west and south—definitely not south, and there’s no point in going back there.”

The matter was considered closed as far as Dom was concerned. He wouldn’t risk any of his people unnecessarily. And if they had to scatter, it was their job to make sure that their people had a set direction to go, not just let blind panic lead them and get them killed because of it.

“Any issues with the Station?” Dom hadn’t been on one of those runs for weeks. Keeping things going inside of Jericho and the occasional walker round up kept him pretty local.

“There’s no problem. Or, at least, not yet.” Brian started, treading carefully. “If we’re going to find people, we need to change our tactics: Be less obvious. Because--” The answer on the other side of _because_ was starkly frank: Because once when it had just been their team—their family— inside Jericho, Dom had failed and the wrong people got in.

Dom looked down at his hands pressed into the tabletop, seeing nothing amiss on his tanned skin but still felt the phantom splashes of blood on his knuckles and the heavy grit of skin beneath his fingernails. There was no blood on him now. He was in the staff room, surrounded by his people talking, and everything was good. Everything was fine. The walls were still standing.

Dom cleared his throat, grunting once to cover the impact of a skipped breath. Everything had been fine. A lie. Just another half-truth, he feed himself. He remembered then as his mind flickered through the memorized specs of the hallways and rooms that there was still blood here; long dried it still stained Jericho’s walls.

Gisele shifted slightly, very much listening to Brian, also wound tight and galvanized by memory. “What are you suggesting?”

“We shouldn’t make it so easy for people to find Station. Like, we shouldn’t spoon-feed them directions. They need to look at the signs and be able to figure it out. So, I’m thinkin’ the signs need to be changed. Make sure they’re still up but a few less—” Brian’s voice tapered off.

A beat later, Gisele picked up his thread of thought. “Go at night. Also the riskiest option because of the walkers and the ones we didn’t take. We don’t want them getting ideas about following us back.”

Dom looked between the pair, considering what they just revealed. New people came in not quite daily but steady enough. “How many have you left at the Station?

“Eleven people,” Answered Brian. The resolve evident in his eyes cemented that it was unnecessary for Dom to ask why.

Dom could tell that Gisele was disquieted thinking about those other people. Her accent sounded harsher on the tongue when she was angry, and now her words had a barbed edge to them. “We saw other groups. Mostly small like before. But assessment proved they were not _good_ people, so we decided not to engage.”

Good people had a certain look, carried a level of anxiety that was so interwoven with their hope that they practically vibrated with it. Good people had mixed groups: men and women, kids and old people, black and white and whoever else. Kids were a good sign, showing that the adults in the group were capable of giving a shit about someone other than themselves. People who could still look another person in the eye, even better.

The _not good_ never looked hungry for food; they hungered for whatever they could take off the first person they’d come across.

 _Before_ , Kenny Linder had been beaten by Dom’s bare hands and survived. Now, if Kenny was still alive, he was lucky. The same couldn’t be said for the other men that had been under Dom’s hands.

It was easy to sink under the wave of dark thoughts. Remember just how hot fresh blood felt on his skin or the fleeting sparks of pain from displaced joints after the collision of bone on bone. So easy to slip under. Dom blinked and looked away, just focused his breathing so he could move on. Another tick of silence and he put his attention squarely on Rome. “How’re we doing on living essentials?”

Rome waved a sheet of paper in front of his face, making sure that he was firmly established as the center of attention. “Got the list straight from Mama Ruth--” The name only Rome got away with calling her. “—and the other Golden Girls.”

“You calling us old, Roman?” Ruth needled him with a teasing gleam in her eye. “My shotgun says otherwise.”

“You know I love you, Mama. But I gotta give my report. So according to the list, we’re good on powdered formula—yay for my nephew. But—but we need more canned vegetables and fruit, multivitamins—to keep the bones strong, a goat or a cow, maybe. Toilet paper and—” His dark eyes pinged across the same line repeatedly, then his face shut down and the heat of embarrassment radiated off him.

Dom pressed him. “And?” Han nudged him to continue.

Rome grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and shook his head at Ruth. “Female stuff,” he said uncharacteristically quietly.

Gisele motioned for the list, which Rome eagerly passed over like it burned him to touch the paper. She hummed as she read the list. “Female stuff, really. It is here but it isn’t listed as _female stuff_.” Gisele drew a pen from her ponytail. One that none of them had seen nested up there. “Move it to the top of the list and add these, too.” Then she passed it back.

Rome took in Gisele’s addition and smiled knowingly. “And condoms, the woman said. Which is good cuz all y’all need them but I don’t want to be thinking about any of y’all getting’ down, especially not Mama.”

“Neither do I.”Han seconded.

“But you will, Mr. Cruise Director. It’s your job to know who’s bumping uglies.” Rome snapped back, then he waved the list, truly done with the topic at hand. “That’s all. Done.”

The meeting was on the threshold of ending. The decisions regarding where they were moving from here already set; Dom only needed to prepare for the waves that he was going to kick up. “Junker and Station patrol are a go today. Rome and me are going to scout for the junkers. Gisele, you’re on Station patrol. Team of your choice.”

She accepted the assignment with a cool look and cut her eyes to Brian. “Of course, I choose Brian.”

“No.” Dom answered. He felt settled now, ready for the waves, and fully ground again. He wouldn’t be changing his mind.

Brian looked at him in askance, disbelief written on his face. “Dom.” An argument brewing in his tone.

Dom did look back at Brian and managed to evade Brian’s nonverbal demand for explanation. Dom continued speaking to Gisele, now testing his own resolve. “Pick three others and you’re good. Council’s dismissed.” Then he was up and striding out the door and down the hall to make the inevitable disagreement private.

Knowing that Brian was coming up fast behind him, Dom just held the door open to their room and waited for Brian to enter. He didn’t wait long. Brian stalked down the hall with long, quiet strides while anger poured through every pore, drawing him towards Dom with an unbreakable magnetic force.

Dom closed the door as Brian rounded on him, bristling with icy fury.

“Dom, what you just did?” Brian growled, his eyes narrowing to slits of arctic ice. “That--That’s utter bullshit, c’mon. Seriously.”

“I made a choice. You deal with it.” Brian and Rome were very much alike in their almost contagious inability to follow orders. Dom telling Brian what he could do was bolstered by the deeper gravel in which it was delivered—obviously elevating the suggestion to an unwavering command—solid like iron.

“No, Dom,” Brian said, prowling angrily in short sweeps between them, his tone steady but braced so carefully on a thin edge. “You made a choice for me. I didn’t make that choice and I’m definitely not co-signing it. I’m needed out there.”

Dom could do diplomacy and compromise on occasion. But when he was adamant and feeling like he was indisputably right, there was no deal making; just listening to him and doing what he said. Brian always followed along, always by his choice, but he didn’t listen when he felt this point was just as important. Brian usually edged Dom out in terms of general stubbornness. Yet, here was one area where he would certainly lose and badly. “Okay, you need a reason, here you go: It hasn’t been twelve hours since you were last out there. So you’re grounded. Just cool it. End of story.” The extra base in Dom’s voice warned Brian not to test him.

Again, Brian exhaled slowly, clearly angrily, fighting to anchor his calm but wholly disregarding the warning. “Dom, I’m good to go.”

“So you say.”

“Yeah, I do say. Because I am.”

Dom pushed off the door. A matter of a few steps put him in Brian’s orbit, allowing him to downshift from anger to certainty. “I’m not arguing with you, Bri. Go to sleep or not. Whatever, it’s your choice. But with me gone, everyone’s going to be running to you for everything from stubbed toes to confession.”

“All the more reason for me to go. Your public needs you.” Because they were so in sync, Brian knew the dig would be a glancing blow. He was expertly familiar with all Dom’s weak spots. If he wanted to make Dom hurt, he knew a few words that would drop him hard.

Dom smiled through the dig and was obviously not dissuaded. “Go charm the people. Hang out with Troop Amazon…”

“You mean, the Guerrilla Scouts.” Since the girls had almost skewered him with their merit badge worthy pig stickers when he and Gisele found them, Brian had been wary of them since. Not quite afraid, just skittish around them.

“Or hang with Pooh Bear. Give Piglet some rest. Do fence duty…whatever you want. Just stay here…please.” Dom offered at last, finally employing compromise in order to hold off a battle between them.

Brian observed him carefully, squinting as his eyes roved over Dom and tried to assess the futility of fighting with Dom versus giving in. “You have a feeling, don’t you?”

Dom held Brian’s gaze for a long minute sinking deep into the desert blue there then nodded. He and Brian had always been so in tune with each other. Always trusting the other implicitly when there had been no evidence to do so. Now there really was no concrete evidence, just a tingle in Dom’s gut that had nothing to do with the coffee. If that tingle meant he might be a bit psychic, then okay, they’d use that, too. Because Dom refused to lose any more of his people.

“Shit,” Brian said, letting that detail settle. “Okay.”

“So we good, Bri?”

“’Bout as good as can be expected. Just don’t pull that shit again. If you need me to do something, talk to me. Don’t try to...” Brian paused, exhaling, “—order me.” Brian’s past resembled a jigsaw puzzle with far too many pieces and despite the connections Dom tried to make, he never seemed to get a hold of the full image. He’d learned to take each bit of information as another bit of Brian and just store it away and appreciate the pieces for what they were.

“So we’re gonna walk out this door and be friends again?” Dom teased now.

Brian rolled his eyes. “We were never friends, Dom. It’s never been like that between us. You realize that, right?” Brian failed to go light like Dom wanted, instead settling for the harsh press of truth.

That was another point they could agree on. Life altering decisions and chronic felonious behavior aside, the two of them just sparked like integral parts to the same system, always complementary and never clashing.

“We’ve always been…” Yeah, no answer required as Dom trailed off, making a vague gesture. From the early days of Vince warning him that Brian was a pig through and through while Dom denied it like Vince hadn’t said a goddamn word, he and Brian already had been the definition of close. Like fucking magnets or spandex, Pearce once said. “ –family, Bri.”

Dom grasped the tip of Brian’s chin, the faintest prick of stubble needled into his fingertips. “We’ve always been family.” He repeated. The nature of their familial bond hadn’t required much time to coalesce, transitioning from backslaps and one-armed hugs to soft strokes and bodies pressed close.

By the tip of his chin, Brian was reeled in for an easy kiss. Brian’s lips parted, the taste of reconstituted orange juice still lingering there on the inner edge, his tongue moving in sure waves against Dom’s.

When Dom kissed Brian, it felt eternal like this was the one thing in this screwed up world that was actually as it was supposed to be.

Pressed this close, Dom could greedily appreciate the hot thrum of Brian’s body sealed against his and the absolute difference between how they’d moved—hands frantic, mouths brutal, hips crashing—last night versus now. Already so very, very different from the night before. “Again?” Dom asked, staring into the dilated abyss of Brian’s eyes.

That primal dark entity that always hovered at the edge of sex rode Dom’s muscles, goading them to touch more, touch harder, and take—just take, take Brian until there they were so intertwined that the blur between _mine and yours_ disintegrated into what remained of them.

Brian’s long arms encircled the wide crest of Dom’s shoulders as he rocked down on the knee that Dom had wedged between them. “Again,” Brian growled through lips freshly swollen.

Brian fisted Dom’s t-shirt and twined it hard around his wrist and wrenched his hips lower to ride. The challenge set by the look in his eyes and the clinch of his thighs around Dom’s demanded that Dom keep up. So ensnared, Dom drifted closer—almost passively, crowding Brian further along the vacant desktop.

It was easier using his strength with Brian. His touches were less tenuous, more deliberate as he set his hands on Brian’s hips, straight and narrow but hard with muscle and drift down. He cupped his hands over the back of Brian’s covered thighs and traveled up slowly, enjoying the heft and heat of Brian’s firm ass in his hands.

He dropped his left hand into the curve of the small of Brian’s back, rucking up his t-shirt to get at the skin hidden underneath while his other continued its curved course over the bottom half of his ass and down into the valley beneath his legs, Dom’s nails catching on the inner seam as they rolled in and out, making future promises.

This was what they needed. To be together without an audience of any kind or the ratcheting weight of impending expectation following them.

As he squeezed tighter, he was pulled closer, his lips sucked harder down the lines of Brian’s throat in proportion to the strength of his hands. Brian teased his mouth, backing off just enough to provide a series of nips and teasing licks.

His mouth was so soft and wet, always waiting for Dom. The prism of love and devotion coloring this moment made this better—fine-tuned his body’s responses to Brian—so, so pretty Brian—and made his dick ridiculously hard when brushed against the length of his tall, lean body.

The look Brian gave him under his lashes was the only warning Dom received before his equilibrium was lost by the sudden _push, pull, and shove_ that Brian gave him that left him sprawled supine over the wooden desk.

“What’s wrong, Dom? Gettin’ old or just gettin’ slow?” Brian worked his fingers over his fly, his cock jutting out, demanding to be freed. Still challenging Dom to make a move.

Laughing while shoving his pants down his legs, Dom shifted his hips, now putting his cock in hand, showing Brian that he was far from slow. “ Don’t worry about me being slow.” He beckoned Brian forward with a curl of his fingers, motioning for him until Brian, sans pants, was perched over the other part of Dom’s larger than life persona.

He gripped Brian’s narrow swell of hips, thumbs sliding into the hot, taut double gutters leading to Brian’s eagerly waiting cock. Dom rubbed his thumbs along the intimate line of skin and watched as Brian’s cock twitched in response. “I won’t be the one walking funny tomorrow,” he mumbled, eyes still drawn to the sight of Brian rising for him. Getting wet for him.

“If you do the job right, then maybe.” Brian crawled north until his mouth hovered over Dom’s. “We’ll see at the finish line, won’t we? Unless you plan to cheat again. Or only,” he shuddered as Dom brushed against his cock, “last ten seconds.” Brian rubbed his lips under the vermillion border of Dom’s and feinted and shifted to avoid Dom’s mouth. “Promises, promises,” he whispered raggedly.

Ready to show just how much he could keep those promises, Dom sank his fingers into Brian’s hair and pulled him down. Their lips colliding in a long tunnel of wet heat and righteous pressure. Dom jacked his hips up to tease his cock against Brian’s; the latter then following and sinking down to align them in a slow rock.

Dom palmed the lube from the top drawer and squirted a messy dollop on his fingers. Brian spread his knees wider, now fully astride Dom’s hips. Thick fingers looped in small circles around the rim of Brian’s entrance, slow and steady, the anathema to Dom’s very being. Pressing inside, those fingers that probed him stroked in and out, further easing the fading resistance as Brian was still loose from the night before, miming the rhythm to come.

The motion of their bodies harmonized into the rising shuffle-slide of skin on skin. Their minds mirrored their bodies by syncing their motions: Dom grabbing his cock at the base while Brian leveraged up to gradually slide lower. A breath per inch, bruises refilling as Dom’s gravity forced him down until Brian was seated and they shared one pulse that raced in an infinite course.

Brian braced himself with his palms spread against Dom’s strong chest but the hold only lasted for the opening thrusts of Dom’s hips. Up and up, they hammered against his ass so quickly, his breath stuttered and his palms began to slide until they dug into Dom’s meaty shoulders.

There was only the unrelenting wave comprised of Dom moving literally inside him, igniting sparks of pleasure-pain and electric heat that flooded his senses, clouding his brain, and encouraging his body to drown in the sea of feeling. Too feel so much after being numb and angry for so long was intoxicating.

But Brian didn’t acquiesce to Dom’s power. Breathing helped him to slow down and push back so that he could steady himself and stir his hips over Dom’s cock with each thrust up; meeting Dom stroke for stroke and daring him to come to the edge.

Of course Dom grasped Brian’s cock and jerked it from base to tip—the row of his fingertips deliberately sliding along the underside and up over the crown so slick with pre-cum, and Brian reflexively tightened around Dom. And the circuit continued until the rising pressure low in Brian’s belly threatened to spill over.

One. Two. Three brushes against that spot and he was through. He bore down on Dom’s dick, charged like a heat seeking missile and rode the hammering stutter inside until he came in wild, long pearly ropes over Dom’s stomach and chest.

Dom pushed up into the heat, breath crashing through his lips, heart thundering in his head like army drums on parade, and he just let go—pounding wickedly with his fingers buried too deeply into the soft give of Brian’s ass. Some day he might be where Brian was by being so open and giving. But today was not that day. He needed to be in Brian as deeply as he could get inside his skin, the closest he’d ever get to being inside his head—connected and not so devastatingly alone.

His past ghosts slipped through his unfettered mind: his years in prison and the nightmare-inducing panic of having to awake in another one, the haunting shade that narrated the fucked up dynamic between him and Mia with Brian the fulcrum between them; and the resounding failure of losing Mia and flirting with the same outcome for Brian.

His vision whited out with the salty taste of Brian’s skin on his tongue and the unrelenting pounding of his heart under Dom’s hands. Again, coming inside Brian felt like a revelation of something entirely foreign and sacred and just for him.

Bound together wet and sore in the silence of their making, they communicated in subtle shifts and slides until kisses resumed, speaking a language that only they understood.

There was joy.

There was sadness.

There was fear.

With foreheads pressed together, there was just them, still alive despite the stream of incalculable odds. Still alive and bound from start to end. Just the two of them, destined to survive.

Brian turned his face towards Dom’s ear. The diminishing fury of his breaths tickled the outer shell. “I’ll stay.” He conceded in a whisper.

Dom’s fingers parted through his hair, sifting through the sweat softened whispers of curls. “I’ll go.” Dom said, finally settling the argument stretched from last night to a complete closure.

In a world reduced to broken quarter miles, the man with endless fuel would be king. Dom had Brian, Jack, their family, and the walls of Jericho. All the fuel he needed. As long as they were together, they’d be unstoppable.

In the warm silence of their room Dom and Brian remained for a few more minutes. Only the small reminders of their responsibilities driving them to return to their duties.

The looped recording of Tej’s voice played off in the background.

_This is Jericho. The walls are still standing._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Akhi (Hebrew): My Brother


End file.
